Mickiewicz, Adam To*** Upon the Alps in Splügen 1829 Zawadzki, Jarek Choromańska, Paulina Fundacja Nowoczesna Polska Romantyzm Liryka Wiersz Publikacja zrealizowana w ramach projektu Wolne Lektury (http://wolnelektury.pl). Materiał źródłowy pobrany ze strony http://archive.org/details/PolishPoetryInEnglish. http://wolnelektury.pl/katalog/lektura/mickiewicz-to-upon-the-alps-in-splugen-1829 http://archive.org/details/PolishPoetryInEnglish Polish Poetry in English, tłum. Jarek Zawadzki [online], [dostęp: 04.03.2013]. Dostępny WWW: http://archive.org/details/PolishPoetryInEnglish. Creative Commons Uznanie Autorstwa - Na Tych Samych Warunkach 3.0.PL http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ xml text text 2013-03-05 enghttp://redakcja.wolnelektury.pl/media/dynamic/cover/image/2399.jpg when bokeh and alcohol mix, Robert S. Donovan@Flickr, CC BY 2.0 http://redakcja.wolnelektury.pl/cover/image/2399 DCA 3MN Adam Mickiewicz To*** Upon the Alps in Splügen 1829 So never may I bid thee now farewell:/ Thou follow'st me through every mount and dell,/ I see thee on the Alpine glaciers tall,/ I hear thy voice in every waterfall;/ My heart throbs heav'ly when I turn around/ To see thee but I'm scared to hear a sound. Ungrateful thou! While in these mountains high,/ I lose my way beneath the somber sky,/ Or, weary so, step down a mountain slope,/ I raise my head toward the skies and hope/ To see the Northern Star that pilots me,/ To find Lithuania, thy house and thee./ Ungrateful thou! Perhaps today a queen/ In a company that I have never seen./ Perhaps enchanted by new loves, in play,/ Of our passed love thou speak'st with them today./ Say, art thou happy at this time at all/ When servants bow at thy, Milady's, call;/ When pleasure lulls thee now to sleep at night,/ Or when thou playest in the morning light?/ And realy holdest thou no memory,/ Which now and then could somehow trouble thee?/ Wouldst thou be happier if thou shared'st thy life/ With a merry traveler and wast his wife?/ My dear, we would be hiking all day long,/ Thy hardships I would sweeten with a song;/ I’d be the first in every rivulet/ To find some little stones therein and let/ Thy feet, untouched by water, feel the sand./ I would caress thee, Dearest, kiss thy hand./ And we would find some lovely mountain hut,/ I'd let thee off my back, the door I'd shut;/ We'd sit by a fire and thou with elfin charm/ Wouldst fall asleep and wake upon my arm.